


Ache for Home

by Indigotuesday



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Angst, Asexuality, Cuddling & Snuggling, Homophobia, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-05
Updated: 2012-09-05
Packaged: 2017-11-13 14:30:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/504488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Indigotuesday/pseuds/Indigotuesday
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Niall is asexual. This changes things, eventually for the better.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ache for Home

**Author's Note:**

> Note: Once again caddyeverafter7 has been incredibly, unbelievably, amazingly helpful. Thanks to her forever, for not only fixing my mistakes but also pushing me into being a less lazy writer. Also, tons of thanks to smash_leigh for being encouraging when this seemed almost finished, but was really in its very early stages.

_The ache for home lives in all of us, the safe place we can go as we are and not be questioned. - Maya Angelou_

Usually, Niall feels slightly out of place. Like a puzzle piece when he’s almost done and just want to finish so he crams it into the remaining space, even though one of the knobs is a little too big so it gets crumpled. From a distance there’s no way to tell anything is wrong, completed puzzle or the publicized perfect image of a world famous boyband. Come a bit closer and the flaw is obvious, that one part that’s just wrong.

Although, usually is an exaggeration, one he makes when feeling self-pitying. When it’s him and his boys in a pile on the couch, warm and comfortable and whole, he fits. When he is singing his heart out on stage, coming in at just the right part of the harmony, he fits. It’s just when the girls scream and flash their tits, when he’s asked about being single in interviews, when they go clubbing and a man looks at him like a predator, that he feels discordant. 

He knows why, too. He hasn’t always known, tried to make all kinds of excuses - having an off day, wants to make an emotional connection, still looking for his soul mate. Still, it’d gone past the point where he could brush it off as a temporary thing. A day sequestered with Google had provided him with his answer: he, Niall Horan, was asexual.

To be fair, Niall has tried stuff; it’s not like he’s making a snap judgement. He just didn’t find it very pleasant, with boys or girls. It wasn’t terrible. Just odd (with the guy it was kind of painful, with the girl a bit wet; by the end of both, though, he was bored). From the way his partners acted, the things on TV, the way the boys talk: it’s meant to be more than that.

He’s an open-minded guy, so when he figures it out it’s just a relief. It makes him happy to know that he’s not faulty, or if he is there are others like him. He adds it to his list of labels: boy, singer, Irish, asexual, and quietly moves on with his life. 

It’s not that the boys don’t pay attention, but more that they have no reason to notice. His internal struggle was fairly contained, and if anything he’s just a bit lighter afterwards. Well, that and he feels more confident to split away from the group when it comes time to go out and pick girls up. There’s a special tone they use that gives him the cue to leave. He’s always up for a drink, but when Zayn’s eyes darken and Liam starts to flush, Niall politely excuses himself to the hotel room. The time alone is beautiful. He watches the food channel, his guilty pleasure, and sprawls over one of the beds with every pillow in the room. His roommate for the night, usually Zayn or Liam because Harry and Louis are near-permanent roommates, stumbles in much later with his buttons done up wrong and collar askew.

Niall nudges him into getting ready for bed, helping with pajamas and getting under the covers. He almost always gets in after him, sometimes pulled and sometimes by himself. Both Liam and Zayn like to be the big spoon and Niall really likes the feeling of being so close to someone, almost wrapped up in them. He feels intimately connected, and it makes something pang deep inside him - bittersweet and akin to nostalgia. To know that he might never have someone who is only _his_ to lie with like this, just because he doesn’t want to fuck beforehand, is vaguely painful.

He thinks this is where Liam and Zayn start to catch on - not to _what’s_ wrong, but that _something_ is off. They give him these looks: concerned and a bit confused. Then they squeeze him tighter and pull him closer; wait for him to spill his secrets.

It’s a night when all three of them are in one room, lounging on one bed. Niall has been deliberately sandwiched in-between the other two and allowed to pick the channel. He’s being spoiled, he knows, and he’s getting the ominous feeling that this is a lead up to probing questions. Niall takes a bracing breath and decides to preempt them. “I wanna talk to you guys about something,” he murmurs, eyes tracing the twisting pattern of the wallpaper border. “Probably Louis and Harry as well.”

“Alright, I’ll go get them,” Zayn says calmly. He gives Liam a significant look before he leaves and Liam nods back.

Niall drops his gaze to his hands in his lap, clutching each other tight enough to turn the skin under his nails dead white. As he watches, Liam’s larger hand comes down to pry his apart, so that Liam can take his hand and clasp it in his own. Niall wraps his other arm around his middle, curling up around it and tipping to lean into Liam’s side. The way he’s breathing can’t be healthy, it’s so fast. He’s half convinced that he’s going to pass out before he can tell anyone anything. It’s not so much fear of what his boys will _say_ , although there is that. What he’s more afraid of is that they won’t be able to look at him after this, to touch him when they know. How could they be blamed when he is so indisputably different? He shudders into Liam’s shoulder as he pictures them turning towards each other and away from him in conversation, pulling away when they’re seated together, just leaving him alone. Liam sweeps his broad, warm palm over Niall’s back. “It’ll be alright, it will. You can tell me anything, tell _us_ anything,” he whispers softly, but with vehemence, ruffling Niall’s hair with his breath.

Zayn slips back into the room, trailed by Louis and Harry. Their faces are solemn as they settle in close to Niall. Zayn reclaims his place on the bed next to Niall, carefully taking the hand not held by Liam. Harry and Louis sit pressed together on the adjacent bed, perched on the edge so they can see Niall, reach out and touch him if they want to. “Okay, Ni. Whenever you’re ready,” Louis prompts, impatient but kind.

Niall draws in a long breath.“I’m asexual,” he says, quiet and fast. Liam looks at him questioningly and he repeats a little louder, “I’m asexual. I don’t like sex, with anyone - don’t like it, don’t want it at all.” He gets louder as he speaks, pulling his hands away from the others to squeeze them into fists in his lap. A current is running through his body, he feels like hitting things or screaming until he runs out of air. There’s this odd electric anger and he realizes that he does not _want_ to have to deal with this, does not want to worry about what his boys will say to him as they sit here in silence. He resists the childish urge to yell about how ‘it’s not _fair_ ’. The switch from worry to anger is fast enough to cause whiplash, too fast for him to really process, and he’s shaking with it.

He feels scrutinized now, like a curiosity. He examines the others’ faces in turn, settles on Harry because his face is always open, displaying the progression of his thought process for those that know him well enough to follow. Harry can’t seem to wrap his head around the concept of asexuality, but at least he looks more bemused than angry. 

“So you don’t like it at all? Are you sure you were doing it right? I mean, sorry, that was probably mean. But, are you sure you’re sure? Because, seriously,” Louis says quickly, leaning in to peer at him. 

“Yeah. Just doesn’t feel nice, don’t like it, don’t wanna do it,” Niall says, near defiant. He’s shrunk away from the boys on either side, curled in on himself. Liam reaches towards him hesitantly, wrapping an arm around his shoulders.

“Okay. You’re asexual. That’s alright,” Liam says, hesitantly. “Thank you very much for telling us.” His tone is formal, which is how Liam gets when he’s uncomfortable, but his hand is warm and nice where it’s rubbing Niall’s shoulder, steady like it never stopped.

Zayn hums in affirmation, “Don’t want to make you uncomfortable, but you’ll still sleep with me, right?” At Liam’s sharp looks he clarifies, “In the same bed, I mean. It’s nice, and, like, I hope that it wasn’t uncomfortable for you, before.” That pushes Niall over the edge. Zayn is softly concerned for his comfort and he still wants Niall close to him. It hits Niall acutely, breaking the tenuous barrier he’s been keeping around his emotions. Without a thought, he’s making a noise in the back of his throat and crawling his way into Zayn’s lap. He pushes his face into the crook of the other boy’s neck, feeling Zayn’s hand come up to cup the back of his head. “Hey, hey. Stop that, everything is fine, love,” Zayn says.

Niall is not actually crying, but as he breathes in and out against Zayn’s jumper it’s certainly not too steady. Liam’s hand has returned, rubbing circles on the small of his back through his thin cotton shirt. He can hear rustling from the other bed, but doesn’t want to move and look. The adrenaline has left, his secret is out, and it’s left him tense and trembling. Harry and Louis footsteps are soft as they cross the room together, and Harry pauses to press a loving kiss to Niall’s head. “You are still the same Niall. Thank you for telling us, though,” he whispers. Louis squeezes his shoulder. They slip out of the room together, leaving the other three huddled in the middle of a bed that should be too small.

Zayn and Liam quietly coordinate to lie Niall down on the bed, he’s pliant with both emotional and physical exhaustion . “I bags big spoon,” Liam says in a teasing whisper. Zayn makes a half-hearted noise of protest, smiling as Niall giggles, slightly giddy, into his pillow.

“See, you’re all good, Ni,” Zayn murmurs. Liam curls himself around Niall, and Zayn arranges himself so Niall can nestle his head in the crook of his shoulder. As far as he can tell, the other two fall asleep nearly immediately and he calms himself enough to do the same by matching the rhythm of his breathing to Zayn’s, his ribcage moving in and out steadily under the arm Niall has thrown over him

Niall wakes up, what feels like ages later, to the sun streaming in through the sheer blinds rather than to his piercing phone alarm, which is uncommon and pleasant. He feels, well, basically like he’s just spent a night in a tiny bed with two other boys: cramped and overly hot. Aside from that, though, he feels calm and peaceful in a way he hasn’t in ages, because, yeah, it was nice to have asexuality click for him and be able to tell himself ‘this is me, here is what I am.’ At the same time, not mentioning it to the other boys felt wrong, like lying - if only by omission. Honesty is a lovely feeling to wake up to.

Liam is normally an early riser, up far before Niall to do Liam things, like push-ups. He’s slept in today and his hair is tickly and soft against the back of Niall’s neck. Zayn has unconsciously targeted the hollow just under Niall’s ribcage with his elbow and his other arm is thrown out to rest on the bedside table. He’s a restless sleeper when he’s not completely entangled in another body. Surrounded by them, Niall spends a few moments in the perfect place that is suspended between asleep and awake. Soon, he can feel Liam going through the motions of waking up behind him, tensing and stretching. Liam props himself up on his elbow, drawing his other arm out from under Niall’s body. He looks down and meets Niall’s hazy eyes, “Sorry, love, did I wake you?” he asks quietly. His voice is sleep scratchy and slurred.

“S’alright,” Niall answers, “was up already.” He moves to sit up against the headboard, slow and sleepy, and watches as Liam gets right out of bed and gathers his things to get ready. Zayn shifts against Niall’s hip and he drops his hand into Zayn’s hair, scratching softly at his scalp in a vague attempt to wake him. Soon, Liam emerges from the bathroom, fully dressed with dripping hair and toothpaste in the corners of his mouth.

“You can take the bathroom, I’ll get Zayn up,” Liam says. Niall crawls off the bed in the flailing manner he has just after waking up. As he pulls soft sweats, a shirt and warm jumper, and his toothbrush out of his duffle, he watches Liam poke Zayn awake and prop him on his feet. All the while Zayn seems just shy of dead asleep, eyes stubbornly closed. By the time Niall emerges from the bathroom, though, Zayn has somehow gotten sloppily dressed, and Liam is adjusting the hem of his shirt to be even and pushing the cuffs up past his hands.

They troop down to the lobby, Liam with both his and Zayn’s bags over his shoulder so the other boy can focus on walking. Harry, Louis, and Paul are standing casually in the lobby waiting for them. Louis jumps on Liam, and with the additional weight of the luggage Zayn has to put a hand on Liam’s arm to keep him from tripping over. Niall gives them a wide berth and Harry ambles over in Louis’ wake to stand near him. He slides his arm around Niall’s shoulder, letting the other boy lean back into him sleepily. Harry tips his head down to rest on Niall’s.

***

Over the following months things continue as they were, for the most part. No one else knows about Niall, not Paul, not Josh, not management. Unlike when he hadn’t told the boys yet, Niall feels fine about other people not knowing. It’s not really the same: he’s not keeping things from the people closest to him. It’s also not covered by the unspoken rule that your manager should know that you’re gay - no one can catch Niall _not_ having sex with people. He has the boys, and that’s all he needs. They all accept him, despite his oddness, he’s pretty sure. Alright, Louis has never explicitly said anything supportive and sometimes he shifts away from Niall on the couch and they haven’t really talked not-in-a-group in ages. Maybe Niall is worried out of mind about that, stays up thinking about it at night, but other than that everything is fine.

Things are pretty good aside from that, actually, because he has Liam and Zayn and Harry. Niall is a firm believer in the importance of human contact, hugs especially, and they are happy to provide. They continue to sleep cuddled up with him, let him curl under their arm in public, hold his hand while they watch movies. Niall can’t quite verbalise what all of this means to him, this quiet acceptance, inclusion, comfort, but he hopes they know anyway.

***

In a hotel in an American state that is either Louisiana or Illinois, their rooms have a connecting door and a thin common wall, which they usually enjoy for ease in bothering each other. Niall is attempting to nap on the bed he’s been sharing with Zayn, tired but not sleepy. He’s alone in the room and can hear Louis and Harry moving about on the other side of the wall. There’s been a soft undercurrent of their usual cheerful conversation, but Louis’ voice suddenly rises so that Niall can pick out words: “It’s just so weird, Harry. I think it’s unnatural, you know?” Niall’s breath is caught in his throat and he’s pleading to anything that will listen, ‘please, oh please, don’t let him be talking about me. Anything else but me, please.’

“Like, he can do whatever he wants. I just don’t really want a part in it like the rest of you do. You’re kind of encouraging him to keep think all this wrong stuff, I suppose. I don’t want to do that,” Louis says, almost conversationally. Niall wants to cry, or scream, or be sick, but he’s just frozen on the bed breathing shallowly and digging his nails into the flesh of his arms.

Harry’s voice is tight and controlled when he speaks. “I don’t understand, Lou. He’s still our Niall. He didn’t pick to be different, and there’s nothing wrong with it. I get that you’re not absolutely okay with gay people, but shouldn’t this be different?”

“Everyone wants sex, Harry. He’s tricking you and he’s tricking himself. Why are you letting him do that?” Louis says, not responding to the question. His tone sounds almost concerned, and Niall thinks he’s clutching his own arms tight enough to blood.

“I can’t be here right now, really can’t. I’ll see you in the morning,” Harry says, weary. Niall can hear him walking heavily across the room, pulling open the connecting door. Niall turns over and buries his face in the pillow, hiding. “Can I stay with you all in here? Lou is being annoying,” Harry says as he enters, forcefully cheerful. When he passes through the door and sees Niall he draws in a quick breath. “Oh, Ni. Did you hear all of that, love?” Harry drops down to the bed next to where Niall is lying. He puts his broad hand on Niall’s lower back, rubbing warm circles, and leans down to drop a kiss by his ear. Niall feels overexposed, open to the minor elements. Like when he’s been in the bath too long and his toes are wrinkled and the tile floor feels like the arctic tundra.

“Please don’t mind Lou, he’s being such a dick. He’s never exactly been open-minded, but, god, what was that? Like, the abstract idea of being gay is fine, but he doesn’t want to be too closely associated with it. He gets so angry when people think we’re dating. There’s no reason he should take all that out on you, though. He’s just being completely ridiculous,” Harry says venomously. He sighs huffily and lies down parallel Niall, who turns his head to the other side. “If he doesn't want people to think he’s gay he shouldn’t hang all over me. Besides, I’ve got better people to have all over me,” his tone has turned light, a little forced, but the words are genuine and he finishes by bumping Niall’s shoulder.

Niall turns his head to look at Harry, cheeks pink and eyes bloodshot. He tips his forehead to touch Harry’s and draws in a deep breath.“Yeah alright,” he says. “I’m going to be done with it now, I am.” His voice is scratchy and quiet.

“Sorry, what’re you done with?” Harry asks.

“I’m done being sad about Louis. People are going to not like me. It was kind of,” he pauses to breathe, “It was hard to hear all of that from Lou. He was wrong though, right?” Harry gives him a definite affirming nod. “The things he said were wrong,” Niall says, more confidently.

“I want to be a role model, Harry. I want people to know that it’s okay not to want sex, for their _friends_ to be asexual. Because, hey, that Irish kid from that boy band is, right?” He pauses and Harry squeezes his wrist. “It was really awful to hear Lou talk like that, it was. Can’t just lay here wallowing though. Not going to change his, I mean, people’s minds like that,” Niall says.

“God, Niall. You’re being so brave, like, I could never keep going when I knew people were going to be so stupid and mean. You’ve got to know, though, me and Liam and Zayn think you’re amazing. We love you no matter what, and _I_ love you Niall,” he pauses and swipes the back of his hand over his eyes. Harry’s other hand is resting on Niall’s waist and Niall grabs it to hold in his own. “This is getting really sappy,” Harry says, “Do you want to watch The Matrix? They have it on demand here.”

“Hey, I was going to ask you to watch that with me earlier,” Niall says. They sit up on the bed, Harry propped up against the headboard and Niall sitting at his side with his head on Harry’s shoulder. Over the course of the evening, Harry thinks Niall seems different. He’s shaken and a little sad which is to be expected, but there’s something else. Niall seems stubbornly resolved, and just as they’re going to sleep he tells Harry, “I’m not going to be ashamed anymore. Not going to let anyone make me ashamed.”

“S’exactly right,” Harry tells him, pulling Niall closer as he drifts off to sleep.

***

Niall always had to fake locker room talk when he was a teenager, but that didn’t mean he never liked people. There was always someone who could make him blush with the littlest nice word. That was enough when he was little because you could _like_ someone without it going anywhere, without it having to mean anything. Then everyone around him developed intent and he was stuck wanting someone to say nice things to him and maybe hold hands. So he quietly put crushes in the ‘I don’t really do that’ box in his head and was especially friendly to the people that made him feel fuzzy.

Now he’s wondering, though, and it’s odd. Josh is nice to him, in a way that could be flirting if Niall doesn’t look straight at it. He gives Niall massages, teaches him to play drums, opens doors for him when they’re out. Sometimes when they’re together there are flutters in Niall’s stomach and he just knows his cheeks have flooded pink. 

“Liam, what does it feel like when you have crush on someone?” Niall asks, without turning to look at Liam where he’s sitting on the other bed. Liam contemplates, turning down the volume on the absurd reality show they have on in the background.

“For me, it’s mostly that you can’t stop thinking about them and imaging spending time with them. When you’re with them you feel happy and kind of - scared isn’t really the right word. Sort of like being on stage, but smaller. It’s a rush, you know?” he explains. Niall nods without lifting his head, chin tucking into the pillow he’s propped up on his folded arms so he can see the screen while lying on his stomach. 

He speaks into the cloth pillow case, one he brought from home that been worn down so it feels fuzzy and soft against his cheek. “Then what do you do - if you kind of think you might like them?” 

“Just be nice to them, like, if you want to be friends. Maybe even nicer, though, if you want to be more. This is going to sound really cheesy, I s’pose, but just follow your heart, Nialler. It’s a good one, won’t lead you astray,” Liam tells him. Niall can’t help but grin; he sits up and slides to the headboard to sit next to Liam with their sides warm together. He rests his head on the other boy’s shoulder and reaches over him for the remote to turn the volume up. 

“Ew, look at that rug. And that lamp is really ugly too - do you think she’ll be out now?”

***

Niall and Josh hang out a lot, even more now that Niall has admitted to himself that he’d kind of like to be _more_ to Josh. Niall is a touchy feely guy so they kind of cuddle most of the time. That could come off as a sexual advance, maybe, if you’re not a very smart person. Still, Niall is sort of shocked and appalled to find himself under the other boy on the couch with an unfamiliar tongue in his mouth. It’s unpleasant, honestly. He feels trapped and there’s too much spit and Josh’s hand is going up underneath Niall’s wife beater. He’s just been laying there, shocked, not participating. This is gross and scary though and he does not want to be here.

He starts squirming his hips and Josh moans and pushes down on him. Niall is unable to pull away, just pushing his head back into the cushion. Any vestige of control he has had is gone when Josh hooks his hand into the waistband of Niall’s pants and pulls away infinitesimally to give himself the leverage to head for Niall’s crotch. That final loss is the shock that Niall needs to force himself into slipping from under Josh onto the floor. He skitters backwards until he hits the wall and looks back at Josh with mussed hair, flushed cheeks, and scared eyes. 

“Don’t, please don’t. I can’t - don’t want that, Josh,” Niall says. 

Josh looks after him, eyes wide with shock, “You like me, though. You do. That was definitely flirting. I wouldn’t have tried anything if you hadn’t been, Niall, I wouldn’t.”

“No, I wasn’t asking - wouldn’t ask because I’m asexual. . . Wanted you to like me, but not to do things like that. . . Can’t be here anymore, Josh,” Niall says quietly, “I’ll talk to you in a while.”

Niall goes back to the room he’s sharing with Liam, which is thankfully empty, in a daze. The more he thinks about it the more silly, naive, and _stupid_ he feels for thinking that he and Josh would ride off into the sunset and live happily ever after without ever having sex. Personally, Niall thinks that would be awesome, but of course Josh doesn’t. He should have seen that, and instead he was living in this fantasy where he flirted until Josh wanted to cuddle with him, and only him, forever. It’s his fault because everyone wants sex, and if he wants to be in a relationship he’s going to have to face that. Everyone makes sacrifices, that’s how being together works. Or at least, that’s what the magazine he was reading in the airport said. 

At the same time, sex is not something he wants. Why should he have to give up his feeling of safety, his comfort? Why can’t he just wait for someone who likes him and doesn’t require sex to continue liking him? Because they don’t exist. Josh is a nice guy, one of the nicest. If he doesn’t want Niall as-is, it doesn’t seem like there will be many people who do. That kind of sucks. Friends are great - his are amazing - but he imagines that there’s something special about having someone who loves you in a way unique from the way they love everyone else.

It’s a difficult realization, but one that he’s been coming to for a while. There’s never been a moment when he could really picture being with Josh, or anyone else. He pulls his phone out and texts Josh. _"Sorry about that. Can we forget it and be friends?"_ It’s deliberate, too much so for abbreviations. He feels guilty, almost like he led Josh on. It was only reasonable for him to assume Niall wanted sex, and unfair for Niall to run away without really explaining why he doesn’t. He’s careful to avoid Josh over the remainder of their tour, embarrassed by what happened.

***

Harry tries to talk to him a few times once they get home about how suddenly he stopped talking to Josh, but his focus is really on how to deal with Louis. Harry’s relationship with Louis went on a dramatic downward slump after his outburst and frankly, in Harry’s opinion, so did Louis’ behavior. Harry will admit that he became much more critical of Lou afterwards, like spotting a crack in a cup: he’s never quite confident in its solidity again, and in the back of his mind he waits for it to crumble each time he uses it. Still, he’s positive Louis didn’t used to be openly offensive in his comments. He’ll still grope Harry to garner screams from the crowd, but in private he gets so mad when articles speculate about them. Louis won’t touch Niall unless deliberately placed next to him and he scoffs and rolls his eyes when he walks in on Niall and Harry cuddling and watching the home design channel (their newest addiction). 

It’s terrible, and Harry doesn’t really know to deal with it. He’s never stopped counting Louis among the most important people in his life; how could he when Louis is his best friend? The thing is, is that Louis has such presence - which Harry thinks he’s quoting from a tabloid - and that makes him amazingly fun to be around. That hasn’t stopped being true, and the majority of the time they’re together Harry is having a blast, laughing and fooling around with Louis. That almost makes it hurt worse when they’re walking down the street to the park and Louis spits out “fucking disgusting” under his breath as they pass two women holding hands and smiling at each other. It’s worse because in the interval between things like that happening, Harry can almost convince himself that he’s being silly, difference of opinion, nothing to get worked up about. Then they’ll be playing videogames with some techs and Louis says to the guy that’s losing that he’s “probably too busy looking to pay attention, queer.” Harry ignores it, things continue on as normal, but still, it’s always niggling in the back of his mind. 

Harry has been toying with the idea of moving out for a while, just to step back. Louis is really important to him, which is sort of the problem. The closer he is to the fire, the more he’s going to get burned. The more he’s tangled up with Lou, the harder it hits when he says things Harry doesn’t like. A bit of distance is what he needs, to back away until he can love Louis with his faults and not feel sort of guilty about it, like by sitting there loving him so much he’s encouraging these prejudices by proximity. 

The final comment, the one that pushes him over the edge and makes him decide, isn’t too out of the ordinary, but Harry was up late the night before and he’d been worn out. He just wanted to see Niall and get coffee, and he’d taken so much lately that it feels like the absolute last thing he can bear. It comes one morning as Harry heads out the door to go grocery shopping with Niall. Louis is slumped on their couch, radio tuned to an obnoxiously chipper morning host in the background, with an overly large bowl of cereal resting on his bare chest. Harry is doing his final leaving preparations, tucking his keys and wallet into his pockets and grabbing the reusable shopping bag Zayn guilted him into buying, while humming the theme song of the weird soap opera he and Niall had gotten caught up in yesterday when flipping channels. 

He’s turning to open the door when Louis speaks up. “Are you actually going out like that with him?” he asks, voice harsh.“You look so _gay_ , Harry.” Louis says it like a swear word and, at a very basic level, Harry is glad he didn’t. There’s only so much he can take at one time, and it requires a lot of effort to remind himself that punching Louis is a bad thing to do. Harry likes his outfit today, thank you very much, and he doesn’t care what anyone decides to think about his sexuality. The sweater is snug across his shoulders, but smells good because he borrowed (stole) it from Niall. His jeans, shirt, and scarf are pretty average. He hates that Louis is implying that some stranger thinking he was gay would be such a terrible thing, hates that the other boy has such venom in his voice, that they’ve grown far enough apart that he can’t sit down with him and explain all this. 

Harry walks to down to Niall’s flat in an almost daze, finding himself knocking on the door a minute later. When Niall opens it Harry pulls him into his arms, seeking a grounding comfort. “I’m moving out tonight. Know this might kind of be an imposition, but can I come here, please?”

Niall an affirmative noise into Harry’s chest then takes a tiny step back so he can speak clearly. “It’s not, ‘course it’s not. You can come here for as long as you need, always. But Harry, please don’t tell me this is because of me. You and Lou used to be so close. Please don’t tell me I’ve ruined that?” 

“Don’t be silly, no you haven’t. He’s changed, or maybe I’ve changed. Like, I can see him more clearly now, and at the same time he’s more willing to say all this awful stuff,” Harry explains, drawing Niall close again. He tugs the other boy under his arm as they walk down to the car.

Without explicitly discussing it, they agree to stay out for awhile so Harry doesn’t have to confront Louis again immediately. They get coffee and grocery shop and then walk around for a bit in a secluded shopping district without too many people to recognize them. Mid-afternoon, they have a late lunch, meeting Liam and Zayn to explain the situation. “No, I understand. Don’t worry about it. If we’re going to be able to work together as a band you need space to get away from the friction you’ve got with Lou,” Liam tells him, nearly immediately. 

Zayn nods along and adds, “You know, we were just lucky to become friends. We’ve all been growing apart from Louis a bit, and you had the farthest to go. Plenty of people do things like this, the band, with a working relationship - maintaining that is all you’ve got to do.” Zayn’s voice is solemn, but the smile he finishes with is contrasting, mellow. 

By the time Louis gets home from Eleanor’s the next morning, Harry and all of his possessions have migrated to Niall’s flat. The next morning in the studio, everyone is perfectly civil to Louis and he behaves well in return. In the end, keeping a bit of distance allows them to regain a bit of familiarity, be friendly towards each other again. Harry is accepting Louis with his faults, the harsh opinions Harry can’t stand to listen to, rather than refusing to acknowledge they exist. Harry’s acted out, made it known that he disapproves of them, and that makes things better. It brings a sense of serenity to play videogames with Louis sans the incessant mental dichotomy of ‘homophobe, says terrible things, so mean’ sharply juxtaposed against ‘loved, best best friend.’ He’s able to focus solely on the second part, on being bandmates and friends without the responsibility of the second on his shoulders.

***

For Niall, living with Harry is really nice. They do mostly the same things because their professional schedules are identical. The public thinks that they must be these crazy club kids in their off hours, but being a celebrity is pretty darn exhausting. When they are seen at a club it’s because they’re being paid; otherwise they go to the pub down the street where they’re almost never recognised. Also, any opportunity they have to sprawl over the couch and read, or watch television, or whatever, is gratefully taken. Having Harry there, as opposed to living alone, just makes everything better. There’s someone to cuddle with on the couch and remember to record the right stuff on the DVR and just talk with when neither of them can sleep late at night. 

For Harry, living with Niall is kind of miraculous. They’re in the same orbit, even casual actions taken with consideration for each other. He has had a roommate before, one who had to do things with him all the time. However, if he and Louis ever did things together besides work it was merely coincidental. Sometimes they’d end up watching television together if one walked in while it was on, and it was always fun but never planned. Niall comes to get Harry whenever one of their favorites is on and they watch together, getting overly invested in the fate of reality show contestants. Harry used to leave leftovers in the fridge when he cooked for Louis to eat, because homecooked food is good for you and he really can’t eat as much stir fry as he normally cooks. Niall freely admits he’s hopeless at cooking, but likes to sit on the counter, swing his feet, and make conversations while Harry does. He can often be bribed into making himself useful by cutting vegetables if Harry promises to make dessert. 

Aside from anything that has a parallel in his life with Louis, there are all these little moments where he is really happy to have Niall as a friend: he always reminds Harry to bring a jumper, even when it’s warm. He draws little monsters on the grocery list and the pad by the phone. His smile is so wide and bright and happy every single time he looks up to find Harry walking through their door. 

There’s no real epiphany, but one day Harry just wakes up knowing that _friend_ is not quite the right word for what Niall is to him. There’s something more there, something that means that Harry is always peripherally aware of Niall when they’re near each other and that one of his favorite things in the world is making Niall laugh his stupid laugh. Still, Harry doesn’t really think he wants to have sex with Niall, or at least, it’s far from the main thing he wants, merely peripheral. Really, he just kind of wants to cuddle Niall forever and ever on their worn soft couch with the sun through the bay window warm on their tangled bodies.

He breaches the subject at breakfast. Niall is pouting because they’ve run out of his cereal and Harry really hopes this is something that will make him smile. “So, I was thinking,” he says, running his fingers through his hair.

“Never a good thing,” Niall teases, looking up from his bowl of Harry’s favorite cereal to focus on him.

“Dork,” Harry says. “I was thinking about how much I like you - and it’s kind of really a lot, Niall.”

Niall is blushing, but looks bemused. “Well, thanks. I like you too.”

“Yeah, well, I hope you do, because I wanted to tell you that I maybe like you as more than a friend,” Harry says definitively, but he hastens to add, “Not really in a sexy way though - does that make sense?” 

Niall takes a minute to answer, staring at Harry with eyes wide and face pale; he looks mildly shell shocked. “You like like me?” Harry nods. “But you don’t want us to have sex?” Harry nods again. 

“I want us to be like we are now, but I want to call you mine, Niall,” Harry tells him seriously. “Also, I wouldn’t mind more cuddling.” As he was hoping, Niall giggles, although it sounds a little hysterical. 

Niall can’t seem to find words, so he walks around to Harry’s side of the table and gently pulls him to his feet. Niall wraps his arms around Harry’s waist in a tight hug, clinging and bordering on painful. Harry’s arms come up around Niall and he rests his chin on the shorter boy’s head. “Yes,” Niall says simply, voice trembling. “Yes, yes please.”

***

It's appropriate, in an odd way, that what Niall and Harry have together is commonly referred to as a 'romantic' relationship. It's funny because Harry is one the biggest romantics, in the classic definition of the word, the world has ever seen. He has all their anniversaries marked down in his phone, the important ones like “Told L&Z” and “N came out to parents,” but also ones he kind of made up like “1st time on a boat as a couple!” Each time one of the little alerts pops up he stops by the florist to get a huge bouquet for their coffee table, which he somehow always manage to leave there with a note without Niall ever seeing him do it. 

It’s not like they never fight. They’re gradually tackling Niall’s reluctance to tell Harry whether or not he likes things, a remnant of his sacrificial mindset. At the beginning he’d just grin and bear things Harry tried, then pull away and quietly freak out, which was awful. Harry may have yelled a bit about “need to know what you’re thinking, stupid” and “ I don’t like doing things if I think you’re not enjoying it.” when he found Niall having a panic attack in their bathroom after a foray into making out. He felt bad, after he finished his rant, but it seems to have driven the point home. Niall barely hesitates to stop them now, which can be frustrating but is overall much better than before.

Trying new things is worth a bit of risk, though Harry always feels a little guilty when Niall has to curl away from him and calm down. Still, the day they discovered that little kisses are something they both love was a very happy one. 

It’s hard for Harry as well, because he does like sex. Niall keeps telling him that he can go pick someone up, and honestly Niall won’t mind. It would feel like cheating though, and he can’t give the sanctity of what he has with Niall up for a quick fuck. He can get on without sex, for this.

What Harry likes best is that he and Niall don’t hide from each other. They’re not afraid to fight, have to because neither one has a baseline for how them being together _should_ work. 

For their first real anniversary, their getting together one, Harry gets up early to make breakfast in bed for Niall. He ruins it, though, by wandering out of the bedroom only a while later. “Hey, go ‘way, cooking your breakfast,” Harry admonishes, bumping Niall with his hip. Niall insists on helping, chopping up veggies for omelets (Harry has been teaching him to do it the right way, so all of the pieces are even). They take everything back to the bedroom on a tray because Harry insists on preserving his romantic intentions, and eat sprawled over the bed on their stomachs. 

“I’m happy to have you, Harry,” Niall says, after a period of comfortable silence. “Didn’t really think I’d have anything near this, and now I do, and yeah. It’s just really nice, and I love you, and I’m really happy.” He’s not really one for words, usually sticks to ‘I love you’ without an explanation. There’s no way for Harry to respond adequately and he knows that Niall doesn’t really need him to. He wants the words out there to be acknowledged, accepted, but not examined. Harry carefully takes Niall’s plate from him so that him so that he can tickle the other boy until he squeals without risking eggs all over their duvet.


End file.
